Every Little Thing
by Losille2000
Summary: When friendship begins to mean more than it might have in the past for Harry and Hermione, causing a rift between the Savior of the Wizarding World and his best friend, it could prove deadly.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** I don't know what to say for myself. I really don't. I sat down to write _Transfiguration of the Heart, Bk 2_, but this is what happened. Harry and Hermione took the forefront and made me write a story about them. Severus was thankful for the reprieve, as he says that TotH is over with (he got laid, and that's all we need to know, apparently), but agreed to make appearances in this story. I argued with him, so we started working on another SS/HG story that will be up soon. In the mean time, though, you will have this to tide you over if you enjoy Harry and Hermione together.

I suppose you could say my fandom is Hermione/any other virile male character. I could conceivably place her with anyone in the fandom and make it believable (bar old guys like Dumbledore and Filch, or half giants). I enjoy Severus and Hermione more than any of the other ones, but there are other ships I enjoy with Hermione- Draco, Lucius, Ron... You get the picture.

Here's to my fans and to any new ones I hope to get from this story. I love you all and hope that you enjoy this.

**Title: **Every Little Thing**  
Rating: **Mature**  
Summary: **Without Dumbledore, the Order knows that the only way to combat Voldemort and his Death Eaters is through a tightly-knit front. As the threat of the Final Battle looms ever closer, relationships are forged and strengthened out of necessity. However, when friendship begins to mean more than it might have in the past for Harry and Hermione, causing a rift between the Savior of the Wizarding World and his best friend, it could prove deadly.  
**Complete/In Progress: **In Progress

Prologue

The Boy Who Lived moved stealthily through a very dark number twelve, Grimmauld Place so as not to wake any of its inhabitants—paintings, wizards or witches. It was the fifth straight night that he could not find some miniscule relief in a restorative sleep, and he found that the only thing that could keep him from harming himself during the long, lonely hours of the night was to traverse the house as many times as possible. It offered him some solitude to know that he was acting a guard to those he loved above all else sleeping soundly in their rooms, even if he were being guarded himself; there was certainly no comfort for him considering what he would have to face in the coming year against Voldemort. He felt powerless against the Dark Magic, even if he knew that he was only person who could ultimately defeat it. Protecting this safe house, though, was something he could control and see to it that all who resided there would be protected so long as they wished.

Every so often he would run into a few of the Order members sitting watch. Moody usually took the late evening shift, but Harry often wondered why exactly, considering that it was not uncommon to find the haggard wizard leaning precariously back in a wooden chair, teetering on the edge of an abrupt, waking jolt to the living world. Tonight Moody sat guard, at his self-appointed spot in the kitchen, but it was not late enough for his eye to begin to shut. As Harry passed through the room, he felt the magical eye following him, making him move more quickly to another door to escape the penetrating gaze. He escaped into the hallway leading toward he study, and found that the door stood open a small bit, an orange glow seeping out into the long corridor.

Not wanting to disturb whoever was in the room, Harry crept along the wall toward the crack and peeked inside. Finding no one on first inspection, he pressed his ear against the door to see if he could hear anything else. There had been times he had walked in on a few trysting couples recently, and he did not care to interrupt any of that again… especially if it was Remus and Tonks. Harry shivered at the reminder of walking in on that sight, but pushed through the door anyway. Long shadows on the wall danced about with each flickering flame, but there was definitely no one around.

Then he heard the soft breathing coming from the settee facing the warm fire and inched closer, peering over the edge to find a supine, bushy-haired witch laying sound asleep on the cushions. A well worn book with multiple dog ears and discolorations on the leather binding lay open on her chest as though she had set the tome down for a moment to absorb what she had just read, but ended up unable to keep her eyes open. There were ink smudges on the side of her lightly freckled nose, and some on her manicured hands. Nothing seemed to have changed over the years since he had met her. Well, there were the obvious changes. She was much taller, not as gangly, her teeth had been fixed after an unfortunate jinx gone awry, and she had thinned out. Actually, thinned out everywhere but her chest. Whether he saw her as a sister or not was irrelevant, there was no denying the fact that she no longer a girl, or even a young lady. She was a woman, and sometimes it was hard to internalize this fact, especially when she adopted her opinionated, know-it-all attitude. In that fact alone, Hermione Granger had not changed.

Gently reaching down for the book, he picked it up and closed it carefully, reading the title. _Ornithology For The Amateur Bird Watcher. _A "light" read for Hermione, no doubt, but by judging from the thickness of the book and that much of it was written in scientific terms, he knew it really was not. She had been searching all her waking hours for some clue on how they were going to defeat Voldemort. While the book he held most likely did not aide in that research, he had a feeling that the other Dark Magic books on the floor beside her did.

"You should be at Hogwart's, Hermione," he said softly, placing the book on top of the pile. She whimpered as though in response, but stayed soundly asleep. He smiled.

Their seventh year had indeed started, and all three were visiting school regularly for classes. It had been the middle of the summer holiday when all three had decided that they would stick together and that they indeed (despite everything that happened with Dumbledore) needed each other and needed to stay in the school for this last year. It had been suggested many times by a few close members of the Order that Hogwart's might be the site of the final stand. In the back of his head, he knew that as well, but he had tried to move it away from innocent kids who did not deserve to get caught up in it all. However, at least at Hogwarts, he had more magic going for him than at any other place. And if anything, it was the one place that really felt like home to him, even now without Dumbledore.

Yet, it was not a typical year for him. He did not sleep in the seventh-year boys dormitory of Gryffindor Tower, and instead traveled to Grimmauld Place each evening by the order of Professor McGonagall. Hermione and Ron had the option of staying in the dormitories, especially seeing as Hermione was Head Girl and had her own room, but each of them had been favoring coming home with him each evening rather than being away from him. They were his personal bodyguards, or so he liked to call them, and would not let him go anywhere alone. They would walk with him to the entrance of Hogwarts where a few Aurors, usually Tonks and Kingsley, would meet them. They would then Disapparate to Grimmauld. There they would sleep until the following day, only to do it all over again in the exact same order.

Harry could not help but feel, though, that he was robbing Hermione of her true loves—learning and being in class. Sure she would attend lectures and practical sessions, but it definitely was not the same. Indeed, he saw the sadness in her eyes every time she met up with him at their appointed location, instead of spending an extended night reading in the library under Madam Pince's watchful eyes. It was probably only her sense of duty that kept her so attached to him.

He had considered on more than one occasion abandoning this house, and going to Hogwarts for her sake, but had always been overruled. No one else would ever be able to find this hide out, except those that Dumbledore had told before he died. It was virtually the safest place he could be unless Snape decided to appear and muck everything up.

"I'm not going to vanish into thin air, Harry," she muttered softly.

Glass-covered green eyes met dark brown and chuckled. "Sorry."

"What are you doing up?" she asked, rubbing her eyes and yawning, willing her mind to rejoin her in the waking world.

"I couldn't sleep," he said. She sat up and patted the seat beside her. He took her invitation, and settled down into the seat before wrapping an arm around her to pull her to him.

Hermione chuckled lowly and rested her head on his shoulder. "I remember a time when I couldn't sit next to you for fear of being accused of liking boys."

Harry laughed, "No kidding. Ron and I weren't any better with girls."

"At least _you've_ grown out of the silly fear of interaction with the opposite sex," Hermione remarked, stretching her legs out to lay some more of her weight against him.

"Oh, give him some time, Hermione," he said. "He's just confused. And if he still hasn't gotten it together by Christmas, I'll knock some sense into him."

She giggled. "Would you please?"

"Anything for you," he laughed.

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. "So how does it feel to be in between us?"

"Like I could kill both of you," he joked and glanced down at her. She smiled faintly and snuggled closer to him.

"To be truthful," she said quietly, pausing for a moment. "I'm not so sure I would welcome his advances anymore."

Harry looked down at her, completely startled. While they had never really discussed Hermione's feelings for Ron, or Ron's feelings for Hermione (Ron had not every really discussed it with him, except to complain about Hermione being uptight or moody), this was not something he had ever expected Hermione to say. As far as he was concerned, they had loved each other from the moment Hermione had burst into their cabin at Hogwarts Express looking for Trevor. To hear her say now that she was not necessarily relishing the thought of being together with Ron was earth shattering. It would devastate Ron.

"You can't be serious," he said, flabbergasted. "It's taken six years to get this far!"

Hermione sighed. "We're different people now, Harry. People change and grow apart. Some grow closer together."

"But…" he stopped himself.

"I love him, don't get me wrong," she continued. "I'm not necessarily _in _love with him any longer."

Harry was silent for a few moments, considering this. Naturally something like this would happen when he needed all three of them together and united the most. "Why don't you just tell him that?"

"Have _you _ever tried to make him see sense before?" she questioned, smiling at him as he thought back to their fourth year. "See? It's not that easy when he's being an obstinate prat."

"Is he being an obstinate prat?"

"Well, no, I haven't even told him... but…" She rolled her eyes at him. "I know, I know!"

"I didn't say anything."

Hermione pursed her lips together. "He'll have a grudge for the longest time, Harry. That could ruin everything we've worked for and I'm not going to bring it up. Part of me hopes that he doesn't get over his fear of touching me so I won't have to bring it up."

"I've never been so glad that I'm not a girl. Why is everything always so grey with you girls? Why not black and white?" said Harry quietly, chuckling softly.

She pinched his leg. "You know, you're lucky I like you."

Silence found them, Harry not wanting to bring up any more about Ron and Hermione's relationship. As much as he loved both of them, he had a difficult enough time figuring out his own heart without trying to give relationship or life advice to others. Perhaps after the war he might be able to fix everyone else's problems, but as he was worrying about the ultimate problem, he knew that it would be useless. Hermione seemed to realize this as well, and they remained sitting together and quietly watching the lapping fire until it had died down to embers and he noticed a gradual decrease in her respirations. Slowly getting up from his spot, he maneuvered his wand out of his pocket and muttered a spell to reignite the fire to its former splendor.

"Sleep well, Hermione," he muttered, leaving her to her dreams.

---

Severus Snape sat atop his lofty perch in an old birch outside the grounds where number twelve, Grimmauld Place should have rested had it not been under spells to hide it. This was his third week sitting in this spot contemplating the empty space between numbers eleven and thirteen, Grimmauld Place and what next he might do to get back into the good graces of the Order. For a man who had killed one of the magical world's most beloved wizards—their leader—he had a limited area to accomplish this.

Indeed, he had the evidence he needed to prove his innocence; all he need do was walk into that house and give it to them. They would see what happened, and why it had to happen. They would hear it come from Dumbledore's own mouth. He knew, though, that the likelihood of even getting a word in before he had been cast in a full body bind, or worse yet, had been the subject of an Avada Kedavra, was slim to none. Entering their headquarters would have to be done swiftly and come as such a surprise that they were unable to render a fight for that brief moment he needed.

It had been five months since his egregious infraction, and he was ready to come back to the Light to help, no matter how much they could not stand him on personal levels. They needed to know the truth, Potter needed to know how to defeat Voldemort, and he needed food and a warm place to sleep.

Luckily, the brightest witch of the age was living up to her title.


	2. Chapter 1

Every Little Thing

**Chapter 1**

"Oy! Hermione! What are you doing up so early? And out in this cold, no less!"

Hermione glanced up from her book toward the back exit of number twelve, Grimmauld place, watching the red head lumber slowly over to her, apparently still half asleep. She gave him a slow smile, but turned her attention back to her book.

"Hermione?"

"I'm studying," she said, peering to her side as he sat down beside her on the stone bench. Usually when she told Ron that she was studying, he would try to avoid her like the plague, for fear that he too would be made to study as was normally the case when he was around Hermione. He flinched only a slight bit this morning, but made no excuses to leave her alone. Today, Ron merely smiled and let her go back to reading.

It became clear, though, that after a few minutes of her paying attention to her book, and him watching her intently, she was not going to be left in peace. She had intentionally gotten up so early this morning to come out here to read and to decide what she was going to do about the situation now sitting ominously up in that old birch tree. Now it seemed she would have to put that off.

Dog-earing her place, she closed the book on her lap, looking back toward the branch. The large black bird there ruffled its plumage and bobbed his head, as though he were baiting her to come up after him. She would not be climbing that tree any time soon—physical pursuits of such a nature were not a choice activity. No, she could eventually use magic to subdue the bird, that was if it put up a fight, and use a Summoning Charm to bring it to her waiting hands.

She did not quite know the intention of this bird, if it even had an intention, but knowing that it was looking directly at her on a hidden and unplottable piece of land alerted her to the fact that it knew she was there. It had told her that two days ago when she first noticed it sitting aloft, the black feathers shining in the afternoon sun. She had an inkling as to what, or whom, it was, but there would only be one way to find out for certain, and doing that would have to be taken with the utmost care.

So she had come out to plan what she was going to do, and Ron still was not leaving her side.

"Is there something you needed, Ron?"

"Nope, just enjoying your company."

Hermione pursed her lips. Had Harry gone ahead and said something to him last night or this morning?

"It's quite nippy out here," he said. "Are you sure you want to stay out here?"

She shrugged.

"You're not very talkative this morning."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I know I'm not… I was reading. And I'm fine out here in the cold."

"Breakfast, you two!"

She grumbled lowly at the sound of Molly's voice coming from the house. Lovely! Now Molly was insisting in her own hand-on-her-hips way that they come in for food and abandon whatever else they were doing. Molly was a wonderfully doting mother, and Hermione admittedly had always been a bit jealous that the Weasley children could call her Mum as Hermione's own mother had never been as warm or as protective of her as Molly. However, since Hermione and Ron had decided that they should not skirt around their mutual crushes any longer, Molly had even taken more interest in Hermione. Ginny was the only girl in the family, and even with Fleur marrying Bill, Molly seemed to be a bit lonely in the female family department. Hermione had been the addition she was waiting for. Regretfully, though, she was quickly growing tired of the constant doting.

It had made doing anything secretive rather difficult.

Ron stood up from his seat, offering his hand to help her up. Hermione smiled faintly, knowing she would not get out of breakfast, and that she really should not skive off the meal today. She would need all of her energy in getting that damn bird down. She took a hold of his hand and stood carefully, pulling her hand away from Ron. He never was one to be overly affectionate, especially after all the public faux pas he had made with Lavender Brown. Hermione knew this well, and did not really mind it much, though it would have been pleasant to get that peck on the cheek once and awhile or an arm around her as they walked about Hogsmeade. Anything to tell others that she was not a complete and utter social reject when it came to love.

Many of the girls at school (Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, to be exact) especially liked spreading the rumor that she was too into her books to recognize boys and not nearly pretty enough to attract them. Even if they would not be impressed that she was with a Weasley, at least it would stop those hurtful rumors.

Hell, even Loony Luna got a hug here and a kiss there from Neville!

Hermione walked past Molly and down the stairs into the kitchen, finding her usual seat beside Tonks, who looked a bit peaky and quiet. She poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice, eyeing the food on the table, trying to decide what her stomach wanted the most. Deciding on a muffin and pulling it onto her plate, Hermione went quietly about cutting the bread in half and spreading butter on it. Meanwhile, Ron was tucking into eggs and bacon with as much gusto as ever, preparing for his Quidditch match later in the day.

"Are you coming to the match today, Hermione?" asked Ron.

"Not today," she said quietly. "I'm researching some things."

"You're always studying!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You say that every time, and does anything ever change?"

"No," he said. "Harry said he wasn't going either."

"He may be tired, he was up all night again," Hermione replied.

"How do you know that?" Ron prodded suspiciously.

"Because he found me in the library around three this morning," she said. "I was asleep on the couch."

Ron nodded his head. "I see."

Hermione sighed.

Just then, Moody made his entrance into the room, his fake leg hobbling along a bit behind him. "You ready to go, boy? Lupin just arrived to escort you."

"Remus is here?" Tonks questioned, her face suddenly brighter and her hair a more vibrant shade of crimson. She jumped clumsily from her seat and moved quickly out of the room.

Soon enough there came a loud thud from the floor above followed by the dreadful screeching from Mrs. Black's portrait that still resisted every attempt at it's removal. That bloody old hag must have used some very powerful magic to make it stick. Everyone in the room rolled their eyes good naturedly, though with some annoyance, but Mrs. Black was quickly dealt with by a few terse words from Harry and the closing of the curtains.

Harry appeared in the kitchen then, shaking his head. "Ron, you might want to get up there pretty soon before Lupin forgets why he's here."

Ron grumbled. "At it again, are they?"

"Ronald Weasley!" Molly smacked the back of his head.

"Do you have to do that, Mum?"

Molly glared at him. "You better leave before something else happens."

"Good luck," Hermione called.

He smiled brilliantly at her. Her confidence always seemed to make him do better whether she was there or not.

"And tell Ginny to catch the snitch or else," Harry added, slipping into the seat across from Hermione. He gave her a half-hearted smile at that, and she returned it as happily as she could manage. It was no secret that Harry missed Quidditch more than anything else, but it had been his choice not to play this year, for fear that something could happen to him during a match or practice. This was not taking into account that no guards would be able to protect him during a match. Hermione had taken it as a remarkable sign of maturity on his part to realize that, even if she knew he would be miserable leaving it behind.

Soon enough, Ron and his guard had left the Grimmauld Place, Tonks deciding to go with Remus. Moody retreated to his heavily-warded room to sleep. And Molly excused herself to pick a few things up from Diagon Alley for the Order meeting later this evening. It was comforting while at the same time being nerve-wracking, knowing that Molly trusted Hermione and Harry alone to guard the house. Or perhaps, just Hermione as it was the Order's duty to protect and aide Harry now as best as they could manage.

"Well, now that we're alone," he said. "Want to tell me why you're reading about birds?"

Hermione was startled at this, but realization filtered through her head as her eyes traveled to the tome lying beside her plate. She did not intend on telling Harry why exactly she was reading about birds, as said bird she was investigating most likely would reveal someone who Harry was not prepared to forgive. Truthfully, she did not know how she would handle the situation either, should this be the animagus form of their former professor and murderer of the greatest wizard in the world. Knowing what she did, she would have guessed that said ex-professor was operating on an order from Dumbledore himself, but there was no way to know that. The only real evidence of loyalty she had to go on right now was that while Severus Snape had every opportunity to hex an equally hex-and-curse-happy Harry as he was fleeing Hogwarts several months ago, he only deflected Harry's attempts at vengeance.

Then again, it might be good to have two people around when and if the bird was an animagus.

"Just some light reading. It's nice to take a break from reading Dark texts," she said.

"On birds?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm just studying right now, Harry."

"Right," he nodded. Harry busied himself with pouring himself a bowl of cereal, then letting it turn soggy as he became engrossed in a story in the _Daily Prophet._

Hermione sipped her pumpkin juice, watching Harry just over the rim of her cup. His eyes flitted here and there across the text, reading carefully. Every once and a while his face became gravely serious and other times he would become rather disgusted at what he was reading. Not once did he smile; it had been so long since he had truly smiled from lips to eyes. She longed to see it again and to have him be carefree, even if she knew it would likely never happen after fighting this war.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" The dark circles beneath his eyes had become Harry's normal appearance as of late. He was having dreams again—his Occlumency lessons permanently suspended after sixth-year with out a skilled teacher—and he was doing everything in his power to not have his mind clouded. Not sleeping was one of his remedies, both for these dreams and for the sheer fact that stress kept his mind from being able to shut itself down properly. Hermione's job amongst the three of them, it seemed, was to worry about this lack of rest.

He shook his head. "I went upstairs after I put you back to bed, and laid down. I was just drifting off when Ron woke up and started to make noise."

Hermione pursed her lips together and shook her head. "You know, without Ginny coming back with us, you could sleep in my room. I'm quiet and all you'd have to worry about it Crookshanks snuggling up to you."

Harry laughed. "As appealing as the fur ball sounds, I think Molly would have something to say about us sharing a room."

"Well, she'd be more apt to have us a share a room then me and Ron."

"Are you kidding? She'd welcome that, I think," Harry laughed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course she would."

Harry smirked and went back to his reading, Hermione quickly falling into her trance watching him again. He had definitely grown up a lot in the last year or so, at least in a physical sense. She had not really realized it—seeing him everyday made it so that small changes were not generally noticeable. It had become pretty apparent last night, however, as she lay against him that he had indeed grown up a good deal.

His long, lean body was sturdy and finely toned, powerful muscles snaked about his arms and midsection. Quidditch likely didn't do that, but they were there, and she had wondered idly how he had acquired them. Neither had she noticed how his shirts fit snugly to his chest until last night and she had rested her hand there, at first not thinking and then finding herself curious. What had changed the most, though, was his face. His jaw had squared and there was a remarkable maturity, even if it was laced with sadness and anxiety, in his green eyes. His glasses were still the same, but his hair was now combed all the time and he did not take pleasure in messing it up. The unruly bits still stuck up in the back; she could sympathize with hair woes.

At least he combed his hair!

"Do I have bogey or something?"

"Huh?" she questioned, raising her brows curiously.

"You're staring at me."

Hermione felt the heat of a blush rise to her cheeks, and she giggled. "Sorry… just thinking."

"That's never good," he remarked, folding the paper up and setting it aside.

"Hey, at least someone thinks around here!" she exclaimed, a frown forming on her lips. "Where'd you be if I wasn't thinking?"

He smiled at that—it still didn't reach his eyes—but he smiled nonetheless.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Harry dropped heavily into the chair across from Hermione, listening to her scratching quill on rough parchment for a few moments. Crookshanks moved slowly over to him, pawing at his pant leg as though he were asking for permission to jump on his lap. Being part feline, Crooks did not obviously consider asking permission to curl into someone's lap pertinent, but he did so nonetheless today. Perhaps Hermione had yelled at him earlier for that hairball she found in her bed and he decided to play it safe with everyone for a little while. Harry patted his thigh, the heavy orange animal jumping and curling into a tight ball.

"Do you want to play some chess?" he asked quietly, scratching Crooks behind his ears.

"I'm doing homework," she remarked.

He frowned. "But I'm so unbelievably bored."

"You have homework you should be doing as well," she said, looking up at him for a brief moment and then going back to her thought.

"That's boring."

Hermione frowned. "Will you never change?"

"Probably not, so you shouldn't try," he replied. This morning had been a rather odd one. After seeing Ron off to the Quidditch match at Hogwarts, he had settled into a breakfast with Hermione that lasted well past ten that morning. He had always found it so easy to fall into a comfortable conversation and companionship with the bushy-haired witch whether they were debating, doing homework, or just sitting around on a lazy afternoon. This morning was no different, and was even more peaceful with Molly gone and the house to themselves.

Hermione pursed her lips together into a thin, disapproving line, but thought better than to argue with him about it. In deference to him, though, she capped her ink jar and set her quill down to the side of her essay. She sat back in her chair casually, crossing her arms over her chest and considering him harshly. "You know I'm horrid at chess."

"Hence the appeal. Lets me feel I can do something better than you," he said.

Her frown deepened. "You're better than me at a lot of things, Harry. You know that."

He chuckled and leaned back in his seat. "Then how about a duel?"

Hermione raised a brow in mock consternation. "Are you entirely sure you can keep up with me, Wonder Boy?"

"Oh, I have a hunch that we might be evenly matched," he remarked with a small smile.

She gathered her things together and stood from her seat. "How's that wandless magic going?"

With that, he felt a tight compression on his chest and looked down just in time to feel the cold trickle of a _Petrificus Totalis _move through his body and cement him in his spot, a handful of Crookshanks caught between his fingers.

Damn her anyway.

She giggled to herself, patting his cheek affectionately. "I'm going to go put this stuff away and I'll be back in a bit." She withdrew her wand from her back pocket and waved it in front of him. "_Finite Incantatem_."

He felt his body warm again and let go of Crookshanks. In one bold move, though, he had reverted to his Muggle upbringing and had launched himself in Hermione's direction, tackling her to the ground and mercilessly tickling her. He knew her well enough to know she would not mind the physicality of the tackle, but would hate the tickling. For some reason she absolutely despised laughing so hard that she could not breathe. But she laughed and laughed, struggling to push him away and kicking her legs out under him, obviously trying to find some vital spot to slow him down enough to escape.

"This… isn't…" she gasped between breaths, stopping to laugh loudly as his fingers found the tickly spot on her waist. "Damn you! Stop… Don't… stop!"

"Don't stop, eh?"

Hermione growled loudly, and with some surprising strength, somehow found her opportunity to push him onto his back. He had done this tickling thing before, just to annoy her, and she nearly always was incapacitated the moment she laughed… such a lovely full laugh it was… this time, however, seemed to be different. She pushed him back forcefully when he tried to sit up, centering her weight over her arms and resting her legs on his thighs. Her long hair fell in his face and he felt for a moment that he was drowning in a sea of brown vanilla and cherry curls before she flipped her head back, causing her hair to fall back around her shoulders, a few renegade tendrils staying in her eyes.

She was not beautiful by any means, but she was _striking_. Especially striking in moments like this, with her cheeks pleasantly pink and her chest heaving in…

_Oh, Merlin, what am I thinking like that for?_

Hermione remained silent, holding him still and he found himself paralyzed by the utterly feral and feminine splendor that was Hermione Granger. He even had some little time to worry that she did remain quiet. Anyone knew, perhaps except that bastard Snape, that Hermione was much more dangerous silent than she was talking.

"You know, I have half a mind to _Petrificus _you again and let it wear off on its own," she threatened. However she misjudged him; even with the sheer strength she was exerting, keeping him pinned to the ground, he was still much larger and a bit more agile than she was. With a few swift movements, he had her on her back and pinned beneath him in a much more incapacitating way, though not in the least was the position conducive to changing his mind to the more neutral.

He was more than acutely aware that he was reacting as any male would with a female such as Hermione beneath him and presented in such a suggestive pose. Warning alarms started going off in his head, the little voice there niggling at him to pay attention to what was going on, warning him that it was entirely wrong to be thinking like this, especially with Hermione in context. What would Ron think if he walked in on this right now? Backing away from her as though she were a noxious substance, capable of burning him, he let out a nervous laugh.

Harry did not know what was bothering him more: the fact that tickling her and landing in such a position in the past had never created such wanton thoughts, or that he had never felt like this when he had landed with Ginny into such a position and in much more compromising a way.

He cleared his throat, looking away from her and toward anything not having to do with her.

Too bad they were in the library and there was nothing that symbolized the woman more.

She did not say anything, surprisingly, trying to dissect what was going on. As a matter of fact, she was being downright sheepish, nervously collecting her scattered work and inkwell that had landed, thankfully still corked, on the opposite side of the room. She glanced in his direction quickly, but instead of holding his gaze as she would normally, she quickly diverted her eyes to the ground and a deep pink blush covered her cheeks and neck.

"Anyway… um… I'll… um… be down in a minute," she said, making the widest berth she could around him and out the door.

A deafening silence filled the room, only broken by Hermione's footsteps on the floor above him and the sound of her shutting the door and latching it.

This was not good. Not good at all.

------

"I've got to be imagining things," Hermione said, running her hand haphazardly through the mass of curls on her head. But how could she imagine that look in his eyes? Even if she had never been the recipient of such a stimulating, needy, completely male look, even from Ron, the instinctual part of her brain—no, her body!—knew exactly what it meant. She also was definitely not loathe to note (noting) that beyond that, his body had felt good…felt right against her. More right than Ron had ever felt, even when they were giving each other friendly embraces here and there.

_Oh, Merlin. What a perverse world we live in._

Not that she had never considered it before with Harry, she just had latched onto Ron more readily because he was always so apt to rise to her comments. He seemed to be paying more attention to her, even if it was not necessarily good attention, than Harry ever had. But then, Harry had always been concerned with other things, as he rightfully should have been concerned. Sure, they had always had an affinity for each other that went beyond friendship. He was always more worried for her whenever something happened; he had been a constant fixture in the hospital wing every time she had been injured or a potion or two had gone awry. She had remembered his terrified bellowing at the Department of Mysteries before she had fully blacked out from Dolohov's curse. Maybe there had always been more between them, that she had not dared notice before? Maybe he had purposely kept himself away from her because of his lot in life?

"I'm crazy," she muttered, flinging herself back on the bed. The springs squeaked in response. Flopping over onto her stomach, she found a much more comfortable spot and let out a long sigh. "Besides, Ginny would kill me."

_Funny,_ she thought,_ that I'm more worried about Ginny than I am what could happen between Ron, Harry and me if I continued to entertain these thoughts._

"We won!"

The loud, excited calls from the floor below interrupted her reveries for the time being. She listened further to the calls of joy and congratulations, hearing that Gryffindor had been Slytherin by a snitch and two goals. Ron regaled Harry on how Ginny had almost gotten into a fist fight with the Slytherin seeker; how he did not let one quaffle by him. Something about Wronski whatever. Something else about a bludger to a head.

Ron was too excited for his own good. She knew, to be a good girlfriend, she should go down and celebrate with him. It was only the right thing to do, besides participating for the sake of their house, but she could not make herself leave her room. Not knowing that she would have to bear Harry's saddened expression over the fact that he could not share in the glory of winning a match of his favorite game—that he could not even go to the games to cheer his friends…his team…on.

But speaking of Slytherin…

She had completely forgotten about that black little problem perched up in the birch tree.

"Where's Hermione?"

The questioning voice came from below, followed by a screechy Harry, trying to cover… something…

Was it nerves?

"She's, erm, upstairs. I think," he replied.

Bounding towards the stairs. Leap one. _Thud. _Leap two. _Thud. _Leap three. _Crack._

When would he learn to watch that top step? The one that was splintering horrible from damage and rot? It was worse than the trick stairs at Hogwarts.

Ron somehow extracted himself from whatever precarious position he found himself in, uttering a few charms to repair his damage.

_Knock knock._

She rolled her eyes and slowly made her way to the door. Pulling the door back, she was met with a flash of red followed by an overly wet kiss. She staggered back haphazardly when he released her from his grasp and gave her a large, rather dashing smile. Clearly, he was overjoyed and wanted to share that fact with everyone, even if they did not much care about it. But Hermione did know one thing: on weekends that Gryffindor had won, it meant increased drinking and/or less inhibitions because of the party atmosphere. Ultimately, that would mean she would end up with Ron's hand permanently affixed to a breast, or both, while he gave her more overly wet kisses in the glow of his celebrations.

Last night, Hermione had been more than ready for Ron to make such a move. However, Hermione was not so certain she wanted him to make such a move now, neither did she know how she was going to handle telling him she did not feel right about more, when she had been egging him on repeatedly throughout the previous months.

"Come on, 'Mione," he said and snaked an arm confidently about his waist. "Mum's putting together a celebration downstairs."

Hermione had no choice but to follow, and hope that she would be able to sneak away early.


End file.
